A Match Made in Spell (Fate Weaver Book 1)
Page 7
"I really am running late," I checked my watch with exaggerated surprise. "Very late." This experience was getting a little strange, even for me.
"Alex...Lexi, I'm sorry if I've been a nosy Nellie. I don't intend to pry, it just seems to happen. A healthy curiosity coupled with wanting to know enough about my customers to give them what they need gets me into trouble sometimes." Athena flashed me one of those toothpaste smiles--the kind where a sparkle of light glinted off her teeth. "I hope to find your flame shining bright come Beltane."
I thanked her for all her help, but before I could cross the threshold, she grabbed me by the arm, her touch sending prickles over my skin and causing my hair to stand on end. My mind seemed to fog over, and when she spoke I listened without a trace of the skepticism I would normally display.
"The Full Milk Moon rises tonight; the seeds have begun to sow, and soon the life energy of the earth will move from darkness into light. Hold tight to the talisman with my blessing, and complete the ritual before the moon begins to wane--two nights hence. Infuse the stone; anoint the candle; gain your Sight. Only then will you see the way to what lies hidden within. Blood the stone two times to seal the spell. Follow your instincts and you will know what to do," Athena hissed. Then, suddenly, I was back to my normal self; her words curling away like smoke until they were entirely gone from my memory.
"You take care of yourself, Alexis." For a moment her eyes met mine, and I could identify genuine sadness in her gaze. What a total nut job. I stuffed the supplies into my enormous leather tote, right on top of the chocolates I would definitely be indulging in later, and decided that one more try couldn't hurt.
Chapter Eight
I retreated to my bedroom, and was eternally grateful to hear the sound of my feet shuffling over the carpet after closing the door. Blessedly, I couldn't hear anything from the other side, which meant the silencing charm I had requested was working correctly. I guess Terra, Soleil, and Evian had gotten bored with torturing me. Vaeta hadn't yet developed a reason to try, and I hoped I never gave her one; elemental faeries are temperamental, with the potential for creating destruction and chaos. Pinpointing Vaeta's intentions toward the rest of us might take some time. And a truce between the sisters that lasted more than an hour.
Reaching into my purse to retrieve the box of chocolates that promised to lift my spirits, I yanked out the bag of supplies from Athena's and stared at it while I chewed on a decadent glob of white chocolate filled with hazelnuts and pieces of chewy, dried strawberries.
Then I stuffed the whole thing underneath my bed. What was the point? I'd been down this road before, many times. And yet...the talisman Athena had given me hung heavy around my neck as I lifted my fingers to touch it.
Salem chose that moment to make his presence known, bolting out from underneath my bed with far too much spunk for an animal his age. Somewhere around my thirteenth birthday, when my greatest wish was to become Sabrina, The Teenage Witch, I found him living in a potting shed at the edge of the woods behind grandmother's statue, and brought the mangy little thing home, much to the irritation of my godmothers. He had never liked them much, preferring to follow me around and stare at me with one green and one blue eye until I scratched a favorite spot under his chin.
Salem didn't look any older than he had that first day--his black coat shined like silk, the little patch of white on his forehead diminished his otherwise uncanny resemblance to a traditional witch's kitty--but I knew he wouldn't live forever, and my heart ached at the thought of losing him one day.
The little minx curled up next to my leg and purred. I laid back against the pillow and allowed the vibration to lull me into a sense of total calm; I always did my best thinking like this. At least I know if I never find love, I don't have to be completely alone in my old age; the neighborhood kids will call me a crazy cat lady, and tell stories about how I fly around on a broomstick, refusing to knock on my door to beg for candy on Halloween. What fun.
Despite my best efforts, I couldn't stop thinking about the sack stashed under my bed. The scene of me getting into the bathtub and performing the Awakening ritual played over and over in my mind. Exasperated, I got up and pulled the bag onto my lap. Annoyed at being displaced, Salem jumped onto my dresser and watched me with his favorite piercing cat stare as I smoothed a spot on the coverlet to lay everything out on the bed in front of me.
Was I really going to try this again? Every time the spell failed, I felt my confidence slip a little more. I pulled out the bath ingredients first. Athena's packet of bath cubes landed on the bed followed by a small bundle of herbs tied with string.
A cloth drawstring bag held a bit of roughly cut sea salt. Himalayan pink, to be precise. Carefully wrapped in paper were two small bottles of sandalwood and myrrh essential oils and three candles; one silver, one purple, and one red.
Yes, I was going to try again. All I have left to lose are the final vestiges of my pride and self-esteem, and really, who needs those anyway?
I grabbed my purse for the three pennies and then strode over to the big bay window encompassing the south side of the room where I opened a secret cabinet beneath the window seat. There, nestled inside, rested a carved wooden box that held my most prized possessions: a tiny bronze bell; a piece of purple cotton hand-embroidered with a Celtic design that didn't correspond with any runes or symbols I could find (and believe me, I had looked); a censer; and two small knives, one with a white handle and one with a black handle.
This meager bundle of ritual supplies was the only thing I knew for certain had been owned by my mother--I had found them hidden in the back of the closet during the renovations. I liked to think Sylvana wouldn't begrudge me the space I gained when we expanded my small childhood bedroom by tearing down the wall leading into hers. Her ritual tools were the ones I used ever since I learned how to cast. Or at least, how to attempt to cast.
I pulled only the bell from its resting place and laid it on the bed with the rest of the supplies. Lastly, I donned a white robe pilfered from my grandmother's closet. White is the color of purity and seemed the appropriate choice for an initiation ritual.
Gathering up the various items, I carried the lot into the adjoining, private bathroom, cleared all the bath products off the shelf around the big clawfoot bathtub, and finally, as if compelled, scrubbed the porcelain until it shined and rinsed it with scalding hot water. Carefully, I placed the candles on the clean shelf, spacing them evenly in a line. While the tub filled with water I tossed in the pennies and added seven drops of the oils and a generous handful of salt.
Before settling into the heated depths, I lit the silver and red candles and turned off the overhead light.
Athena's bath cubes fizzed and frothed when they hit the water. They smelled like carnations. Combined with the fragrant oils, the sweet, yet spicy scent rose seductively with the steam. The sound of the running water relaxed me and helped tune out the minutia of thoughts vying for first place inside my scattered brain.
My heartbeat turned slow and steady with a few deep breaths and, feeling more grounded than I had in weeks, I twisted the taps closed, let the white robe slither to the floor and dipped a toe into the tub. A warm tingle ran up my leg, swirled around my calf and up the back of my thigh. I stepped all the way in and felt the same odd sensation travel up my other leg and then north, across my hip bones and around my back, finally tracing a path over my shoulders before settling into my chest.
Contentment and satisfaction seeped into my heart and bones and muscle as I sank into the water up to my chin, then gave the bell a little shake. Its tinkle sounded louder than it ever had before, reverberating off the walls to begin the ritual cleanse.
Moonlight shone through the open window and a light, unseasonably warm breeze played across the water's surface, creating ripples that twinkled in the glow. I began to hum to myself, a tune I couldn't actually remember ever hearing, but one that seemed familiar and beloved, as though it were a part of me, of my past.
Instinctively, I knew what I was supposed to do--and what I had been doing wrong every other time I had attempted this ritual--and began to rub my finger over the unlit purple candle, anointing it with my own blood. I placed it back in its spot, struck a match, and touched the flame against the candle's wick. The talisman around my neck blazed with heat but did not burn my skin, and the flames of all three candles turned bright red, then went out. I saw the smoke they left behind billow in the moonlight to create shapes that disappeared as quickly as they formed, and felt the talisman return to its normal temperature.
Encouraged by the way the stone had responded to the cleansing, I threw caution to the wind and prepared the ingredients needed to complete the spell meant to draw my magic to life. Long practice sped the process and soon everything was ready. Closing my eyes to remember the exact cadence Athena had used, I repeated the words that would (hopefully) seal my fate.
Candle burn and flame grow bright
I call upon the power of light
Blood to blood and heart to heart
From moon and star the power impart
Awaken magic, come to me
As I command, so mote it be
Then there was nothing. No sparks shooting from my fingers, no feeling of transformation. I rang the bell to signal the end of the ritual out of habit, rose from the tub and flicked on the light. A glance in the mirror confirmed what I already knew. It was just me, as I had always been. As I always expected to be. Plain old Lexi. Vowing to clean up my mess later, I slammed the door behind me and fell into bed without even brushing my teeth.
Chapter Nine
Tears wet my pillow as I tossed and turned, knowing that time was running out and, despite Terra's "good feeling", if nothing changed soon I would be plain old Lexi forever. Finally, my eyes closed and my body shut down, pushing me into a deeper sleep than I had thought possible.
My dream self, however, still couldn't forget my troubles. She wandered out of my bedroom and down the stairs, searching for the key that would access my magic. I noticed that, in my current dream state, some of the areas of the house remained shrouded in a kind of fog, and if I tried to move in those directions I ended up back on my original path; in fact, only the older rooms, the sections untouched by faerie magic, were accessible to me.
When I entered those areas, they seemed familiar and alien all at once; wainscoting that I had painstakingly helped Evian whitewash when I was eight or nine was once again stained dark to match the chestnut floors. I recognized an antique sideboard that had been relocated to another room, resting in its original spot and holding an old Christmas cactus that had died long ago. It was my house, but it was as it had been in the past when Clara and Sylvana still lived--of that, I was suddenly, unquestionably sure.
With morbid fascination and complete control of my dream self, I made my way through each of the other rooms, examining every corner and crevice while I had the opportunity, and noticed that the mist curling around what was left of the present had receded as I became entrenched in the past.
My grandmother's room still looked the same. Not a shock since it was the place nobody ever went. I nearly skipped back down the hall to my own bedroom, my heart in my throat over the possibility of it looking as it had when she still lived there. I might finally learn something about the mother I would never have the chance to know.
The door looked the same as ever. Antique oak with six panels in the honey color of aged whiskey. As they always did, my eyes sought the familiar pattern of a face in the fine grain of the old wood. When I was little, I thought the face belonged to a sprite that lived in the door and watched over me. What might sound creepy to others comforted me, and I found similar patterns throughout the entire house. Dozens of faces watched me wherever I went. Some kids have imaginary friends, I had wood elves. That doesn't make me weird, does it?
One deep breath, then another and I opened the door. I found myself standing in the middle of a teenage girl's--no, a teenage witch's--sanctuary. Eyes wide, I surveyed the room that was at once my own and yet, not mine at all. Clearly, Sylvana had been caught between two worlds as much as I felt I was; posters of rock and roll gods shared wall space with woven tapestries depicting various symbols of Wiccan lore: a tree of life, the five elements, and even the goddess Athena in all her glory. What looked to me like the entire night sky of stars spotted the ceiling, hand painted in intricate detail, complete with astrologically-correct constellations. I wondered if the godmothers had painted over this particular piece of artwork, or if at some point, Sylvana had tired of the rendition and covered it herself.
The vanity I had spent my own teen years preening in front of sat in a place of honor against the far wall, exactly where my bathroom door was now. Testing the limits of the dream, I reached for a tube of lipstick and it felt solid in my hand. Flipping it over, I read the tag on the bottom. Cherry Red. Nice color.
Sprawled across the scarred top was a collection of makeup in a palette similar to my own preferences, and I wondered for the millionth time whether Sylvana carried the same coloring and features as her mother, Clara. Instinctively, I opened the middle drawer and reached into a secret compartment near the back. My hand closed around a stack of photographs bound with a ribbon, and I knew that in a few seconds I could be gazing at the first picture of my mother I had ever seen.
I barely caught a glimpse of the first photo in the stack--a girl, her head turned from the camera, wild jet black hair cascading in curly tendrils to cover her face--when a noise echoing from the hallway diverted my attention. The tufted ottoman I had been sitting on went up in a cloud of dark matter, as did the rest of the room, and I was back out in the hallway again. Panicked, I jiggled the door handle to no avail and growled out my frustration and disappointment.
Twice more I heard the banging sound before identifying its origin. Whatever was making the noise was in the parlor. Full of curiosity, but still mindful of danger, I crept down the hall to take a look.
The twinkle of the Balefire and the sound of it crackling in the fireplace drew me closer, and I felt Salem's furry cat body entwine a figure eight around my legs. He let out an almost human yowl, looked me straight in the eyes and ran a few feet ahead of me as if beckoning me to follow. As I neared the hearth the fire's glow began to grow until it shone with a white light, brighter than I had ever seen it during my lifetime.
It drew me in; I was mesmerized by the flame, and the raw power I saw reflected there. As if on a reel, I saw my life play out as it should have, in a matter of mere seconds; me growing up as a witch, tending the flame and wielding a magic broom, its willow binding bursting at the seams with fresh birch twigs; my mother and I running through a field of daisies, our dark hair spilling down our backs; dancing under a full moon, communing with a benevolent goddess, my heart full; and finally, me exploding with newfound power, my pure intentions solidifying as a vow to do only good with my gifts.
As soon as it began, the vision was over. Something in the flame caught my eye and I blinked away tears at the sudden brightness. Salem let out another ear-piercing yowl and curled himself around my crouching legs, back and forth, before trotting over to the fire grate and meowing again. This time, when I looked into the flame, I could clearly see a handle positioned in the very center of it.
What on earth was the reasoning behind that? For more than three hundred years a fire--fed by magic--has burned on this hearth. Handles are made to be handled. Isn't that how they got the name in the first place? Putting one in the only place in the house it could never be touched seemed like an odd choice to me.
Pondering of that conundrum only lasted a moment before an otherworldly vision intruded on my consciousness. In total shock, I watched as my own hand reached toward
the flame--reached right through it actually. I grabbed the handle and pulled.
Chapter Ten
Shrill pandemonium sucked away the memory of my dreams long before sleep had time to restore either body or soul. I swear my eyelids made a sucking sound when they peeled open--not that I could hear it. My head swung around to orient my sight on the alarm clock I didn't remember setting. Batting it off the nightstand hard enough to send it scooting across the floor only served to unplug it from the wall while the noise continued unabated.
What the hell was going on?
Heart racing against the rush of adrenaline, I catapulted out of bed, tangled my feet in the sheets, and went down hard enough to score a carpet burn on my chin and knock the wind out of me. Not my finest moment. My one consolation was Salem being the only witness to my ungainly bed exit, and he wouldn't be telling the tale.
"What is that horrible noise?" So much for the silencing charm. My ears rang. I think my eyes rang. Another minute and they might have started bleeding.
Halfway to the kitchen, I realized the noise sounded a little bit like opera music. Twisted and insane opera music playing at a volume you would hear if you were standing right inside the soprano's mouth while she sang.
I skidded into the room like a cartoon character and came to a dead stop with my arms waving a little. There was a nymph in the middle of my kitchen. A naked nymph. Yeah, that's how you can tell them from other denizens of the Faelands--the nudity. I think I said something like ack and reversed my trajectory.
In the living room, Evian smirked at me.